


Deathbells, Mushrooms and Basil

by luna_lazuli



Category: Goodnight Moon ASMR, no ones looking for asmr fanfic sue me, sorry its a very specific and small following, that's about it whatever
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_lazuli/pseuds/luna_lazuli
Summary: Set in the small village of Harbington, this is the story of young Bridgette Meadowood, a bubbly innkeeper with dreams that reach the stars and a kind soul for anyone who has the privilege of meeting her. But her life grows mysterious and intriguing when she meets Ivy Nightshade, a witch who has concealed her life in the forest near Harbington for many moons until Bridgette stumbles upon her one night. Their bond grows as they begin to get to know each other, creating a relationship that changes the way that one another thinks, acts, and feels.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erin of Goodnight Moon ASMR](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Erin+of+Goodnight+Moon+ASMR).



Bridgette Meadowood was a young and bubbly creature, known for her kindness and determination amongst the citizens of Harbington. She was always a bright helping hand in the close-knit village, dependable and reliable, but most of all, a friend for those in need. Her parents were farmers in the village just a few towns over in the small hamlet of Honeymoore, a little place known for its farming, fishing, and of course its sweet and distinguished honey. The tiny village was also known for its extravagant festivals, which is most likely where Bridgette picked up her bright and sociable personality, from running her family’s produce stand at every festival that took place. The Meadowoods were particularly adept at growing squashes of all varieties and were a huge success amongst the townspeople and visitors. Bridgette had always dreamed of moving to Harbington to open up an Inn of her own, hoping and wishing it to be a warm place for any and all to visit when they’re cold or tired. Her main focus in life was to help people in whatever ways she could, and she felt that this was one of the best ways to accomplish this.

Though on the other hand, Ivy Nightshade, known as The Nightshade Witch, was definitely not famous for her pleasant aura. Nightshade was Harbington’s dark witch, the woman to seek if you wanted to gain revenge on someone through magical curses, hexes, and or jinxes. She was a cold and mysterious woman to most, living in her secluded hut in the nearby woods, only emerging for materials for her craft. In her humble beginnings, she never really wanted any visitors, let alone an entire village knowing her as one of their own. She always thought of her association with Harbington as a failure on her part, not even secretly fond of any of the villagers, save for one in particular. Not much is known about her or how she arrived in Harbington, and not many ventured to try and find out.

Bridgette had been scavenging for herbs and vegetables in the local forest in just the beginnings of the creation of her Babblebrook Inn. Bridgette was very stressed, as she was barely making ends meet with the Inn, not to mention having sunk a lot of her savings into it so she hardly had any money left at all; however she was determined to make it work, despite things looking a little dim. The Inn needed a lot of fixing up, the roof leaked a fair bit, and the fireplace would make a horrible whistling noise, keeping any guests awake throughout the night, and the furniture and decoration that Bridgette had put in was quite scrappy and worn, making the Inn look a little… precarious. Needless to say, she wasn’t gaining a lot of revenue. As her wheels turned in her mind to try to gather more customers, she wandered very deep into the forest, coming up onto unfamiliar territory. A small hut lay deep in the forest, tucked in a spacious clearing away from Harbington. As the sun set and the moon emerged to cast an eerie glow upon the forest, someone appeared from her hut to tend to her garden, as her deathbells had been growing quite needy as they bloomed. At this point in time, Nightshade was a lesser known force as well, a mere rumour for young townsfolk to scare each other with in the late hours of the night. So you could imagine Bridgette’s surprise when her eyes arrived upon Nightshade’s stone hut in a wide clearing. They each heard one another’s rustling, Nightshade’s dark brown eyes gleaming at Bridgette in the moonlight. Bridgette froze in place, clutching her weaved basket full of mushrooms and basil leaves. Nightshade was taken aback as well, as she’d never had a member of the town get so close to her home. Sure, they’d heard her taking walks through the forest, catching small glimpses of her gold jewellery glinting in the sunlight, but never had a person seen her in her natural element. She hadn’t had much interaction with others for quite some time, as like Bridgette, her business hadn’t necessarily taken off either, mostly temporary travelers wandering through the forest and picking up small and spiteful charms along the way. But no one had ever stayed, no one had ever wanted to stay. So naturally, she didn’t necessarily have the most abundant of social skills, producing her candidly loud reaction.

“ _ What are you doing here? _ ” Nightshade boomed in the night, not moving from her spot in the garden. Bridgette clutched her basket harder, gasping but not shrieking as she thought she might have if the willowy figure in the shadows spoke to her.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that anyone was here, I lost track of time- see I’ve been scavenging, and I- I didn’t realize how deep the woods went, I’ll leave, I’m truly so very sorry,” Bridgette stammered as she collected her skirt and backed away.

Nightshade flowed through the gate at her garden, moving quickly to catch the girl who invaded her space. She didn’t really plan on having anyone find her, let alone having anyone spread rumours of a mean and gnarled witch who lives in their local forest- no, she needed to make sure that this girl didn’t tell anyone about her, or at the very least tell anyone that there was any reason to fear her. Nightshade was many things, but loud? Not on her watch. She tried to catch Bridgette by her sleeve, just narrowly missing her. Bridgette ran fast, and Nightshade rapidly lost sight of the girl.

“ _ Simply fantastic, Ivy, now she’s going to tell all the nauseating little dunces about you and you’re going to be a mound of soot at the base of a stake because you shrieked at her. Truly marvelous, Ivy, you insufferable wart,”  _ Nightshade thought, scolding herself silently as she continued to leer at the space where Bridgette ran.

Bridgette burst out of the woods panting like a wild dog, checking her skirt to see if it was ripped at all. She had lost some of the contents of her basket, but not a detrimental amount, and her skirt was just a bit dirty around the hem. No one saw her as the day had turned to night long ago, and everyone was either sleeping or staying quietly in the comfort of their homes. Bridgette briskly made her way back to her Inn, locking the door behind her as she arrived in the doorway. There were no guests tonight and no one had come in while she was away; she had left a sign on the front desk counter in her absence, assurring any imaginary guests that she would be back shortly to get them situated. Alas, no one had come in, or at least no one had stayed. Bridgette sighed as she went upstairs to her quarters, a loft above the Inn, away from the guest’s rooms, but close enough that if she were ever needed, they could simply walk up some stairs to her door and ring the small bell that she’d set up on a table beside her door. There was also a small wooden slotted box for any requests the guests had that weren’t urgent, accompanied by a small pot of ink and a grey quill. Bridgette took a key out of her skirt pocket to unlock the small box, just to be sure that no one had left her any notes, but the box was empty as usual. She felt increasingly hopeless, sniffling away tears as she closed the box back up and locked it, opening her door and closing it behind her, leaning against the it and closing her eyes. She began to weep quietly, letting the events from the day wash over her, becoming quite overwhelmed and sleepy. She just wanted to crawl into her bed and sleep for a week, leaving her responsibilities on pause for until she awoke feeling refreshed and determined like her usual self. As she stored away the supplies she’d picked up from the forest in a cupboard in her small kitchen, she fantasized about what the Inn could become, what she wanted the Inn to become. She thought up the new fireplace, keeping the entire lobby cozy and warm from the elements outside, and the roof being fixed to keep out the leaks. She thought of new couches and chairs, nice red and blue ones with fluffy down feathers for guests to sink in to. Slipping off her skirt and blouse and tossing them into a nearby basket, she changed into her soft cotton nightgown, her favorite one with the long sleeves that made her feel like a princess. She collapsed onto her bed, barely getting under the covers before she was sound asleep, continuing her fantasy into her dreams.

For the next few weeks, Nightshade kept her ear to the ground as much as she could manage, listening for any talk of a mean woman who lived in the forest, or anything of that kind. She stayed in the shallows of the forest close to the town, her heart catching in her throat every time the courier rang his bell to announce any news, but she was always relieved when he spoke of prices going down at the Haberdashery, or an event that was drawing near. But the news that she was dreading never came, and eventually she sunk back into the woods, thinking about the mousy girl with the basket, wondering if she’d ever return.

Bridgette thought about Nightshade often as well, wondering what might have happened to her if she stayed too long. She hadn’t gotten a good look at Nightshade, however it was hardly a guess as to what Nightshade’s chosen profession was. Bridgette had heard of dark witches before, a popular character to demonize in literature and stories at friendly gatherings from her teenage years. There were other witches that were safe and friendly though, ones that lived amongst regular townsfolk, even offering their services for healing or other positive forces. Bridgette had even had a friend in school whose aunt was a witch, one who would visit the house often and produce colourful little sparky charms to entertain them. Harbington had a witch like that by the name of Willow who produced cleansing spells for those in need. But Bridgette had never met a dark witch before now, and her first impressions weren’t the best. She continued to wonder about Nightshade, increasingly so over the next few days, as she often had dreams of her coming out of her garden and inviting her inside. The first few weren’t very pleasant, usually ending with her poisoning Bridgette or cooking her in a large cauldron, but something told Bridgette that the stories that she’d been told about dark witches didn’t always ring true, and that somehow, something told her that Nightshade was different than what her dreams told her. After a few more days, Bridgette’s dreams transformed into Nightshade inviting her in to her hut to have tea and laugh together, and with these dreams her curiosity about Nightshade grew and grew. But by the end of the week, Bridgette’s mind wandered elsewhere as she became occupied again with the Inn. Her thoughts of Nightshade were pushed to the back of her mind, only to resurface when she receives an odd letter in her mailbox, written in scarlet ink.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridgette goes about her day running errands and we meet some familiar characters but also some new ones! And as the night winds down, she finds a peculiar note in her note box from an unfamiliar writer, asking to meet for tea and perhaps a bit of magic.

As Bridgette got ready for the day, listening to the morning announcements from the loud courier outside, she made a list of what she wanted to do. She did this every morning, unrolling a sheet of parchment from a long roll she kept on her desk. Bridgette’s loft space matched her personality perfectly, with quaint rustic colours of mustard yellows and viridian blues. The layout was pretty cozy and borderline clustered, a small kitchen with a dining table to the left of it and an even smaller living room space where she had set up a cozy couch that her grandmother had given to her when she moved out. It matched the loft space quite well with the same colour scheme, small flowers dotting the exterior. It brought Bridgette a sense of nostalgia and would often sit and read there when she wanted to relax or reminisce. One thing about Bridgette was that she was notorious for getting absorbed into daydreams, and often found solace in nostalgia. Kids would tease her when she was in school for not paying much attention in her classes, but she managed alright, and after a while she began to take it as a compliment but developed skills to keep it under control when needed. Her whole family was full of dreamers and storytellers, and these traits had definitely been passed down onto her. The last two rooms in her living space were her bedroom, a small nook with a large window where she had set up a desk space, doing much of her work for the Inn there as well as writing the odd scrawl of poetry or art, and attached was a comfortable bathroom with a large tub where she often relaxed after particularly stressful days. Bridgette set up her quill, ink, and paper to be ready for when she returned with her breakfast. She put a kettle on for her morning tea and spread some butter and marmalade on some homemade bread she’d received from her friend Maybell who ran a magical creatures shop just down the street from the Inn. Maybell was an eclectic character, but her intense kindness smoothed over any frustrations anyone could possibly have with her frazzled personality. The kettle began to whistle, and Bridgette produced a bright red mug from a cupboard as well as a box of special rhubarb oolong tea that she’d picked up from the Mossdrop Tea Shop. She poured herself a mug, inserted the tea bag into the hot water and added a spoonful of honey to it as it steeped. By this time, she’d already crafted her list of things to do for the day in her head and was excited to get started. She briskly returned to her desk with her mug and bread and started scribbling tasks down on her parchment, including seeing who would take a look at the roof, a small grocery shopping list, baking some buns with the mushrooms and basil that she’d gotten the other day, and a handful of other errands around the town. With that, she took her final bite of her breakfast, and was itching to begin the day. Before she got dressed, she washed her mug and plate she’d used and put them on the drying towel beside her sink so that she could put them away when she returned. She’d gotten into the habit of doing this when she was a young girl and it stuck with her into her adult years. She went back to her room and looked through her window to check what the weather was like. Since it seemed to be pretty sunny, she put on a light butter yellow blouse with small, puffed cap sleeves with her favorite burnt umber skirt that fell just at the ankles. She’d gotten it from the Harbington Haberdashery and had fallen in love with it since. She went to the bathroom and combed her hair, struggling with the stubborn knots that she never seemed to be able to get rid of fully. After struggling for what seemed like ages, she was finally satisfied with the way it looked and fastened the front pieces with a small gold clip shaped like a butterfly out of the way of her face. Bridgette didn’t wear much makeup save for some rose salve which she applied to her lips and cheeks to add some colour to her face. Other than that, her freckled face stayed bare, and she was out the door and descending the stairs to the lobby.

It was quite early in the morning as Bridgette had trained herself to be an early riser to prepare herself for working at an Inn, but she definitely was not always that way. She left another note at the front desk alerting anyone who might come in that she was out running errands but that they could find her at any of the following shops, giving a list of places she planned to go. She didn’t often leave notes in her place, but this week had been particularly busy and Bridgette found herself leaving the Inn vacant. This worried her, but she was determined to keep up with her schedule and knew that these errands would help the Inn in the end. Producing the scroll containing her list from her skirt pocket, she glanced at the first task on the list before placing it in the wicker basket she brought with her when she ran errands. The first thing on the list was to find someone who could fix her roof. She began to go through the local shops in her mind, trying to find a name that stuck out to her who could help.

“Let’s see,” she said to herself as she arrived in town square, tapping her cheek absentmindedly, “Anastasia at the Haberdashery is quite handy with tools, however I don’t know if she’ll have the right materials…”

As she walked and talked to herself, she almost tripped over a pigeon that was pecking at some stray seeds someone had left it on the ground. She heard a few chuckles from a bench nearby, but nothing malicious. She gave a smile to the old couple who were sitting there, and the man tipped the brim of his hat at her and continued to read the paper to the woman sitting next to him, presumably his wife. As she gathered herself back, she continued to walk, scanning the shop names when she suddenly remembered the carpentry shop on the other side of town, a small but busy shop owned by the humble little Winterfallow family. The parents of the gaggle of children, Daniel and Ophelia, had started the shop years ago, before they had their five children. There were three girls, Fawn, Eden, and Esmerelda, and two boys, Louis and Dorian. They were a sweet bunch, often seen playing together in the fountain in town square, or in the fields out by the forest. They had learned good morals from their parents and were growing up to be quite a couple of upstanding children. Esmerelda was the oldest of the bunch, at seventeen years old, Louis and Dorian not far behind at fifteen and fourteen, and the last two girls were both twins at twelve years of age. Bridgette smiled to herself as she thought of the kids, remembering seeing Esmerelda start secondary school near the end of her schooling. She was a sweet young girl, the entire family having jet black curly hair, which Esmerelda often had tied in a high ponytail which provided her with a halo of smoky ringlets around her head. Sometimes she and her brother, Louis reminded Bridgette of her and her brother’s relationship, close but still never letting up on teasing each other. When the twins played in the fountain, you could always count on one of the two eldest splashing each other until it became a full out war between the five kids, a loud and playful scene to observe, but always happy. Bridgette headed towards the shop, swishing her way through the colourful market where shopkeepers exuberantly advertised their wares. It spanned from fruits and vegetables, to jewellery, to colourful fabrics, to magical charms, to god knows where! Bridgette had been so busy lately that she hadn’t had a good chance to explore the new businesses that had come in, so she hardly even knew how far the market spanned. She pushed passed the customers ‘oo’-ing and ‘aah’-ing at the precious gemstones that were for sale. The market was pretty packed this morning, most likely because of the beautiful weather. Bridgette decided that she would return later that day to do her grocery shopping that was on her list. Finally, she reached the end of the market and arrived at the carpentry shop. It was a wide but short building, with a homemade sign that said ‘Winterfallow Carpentry’.

“Simple, but nice,” Bridgette said to herself before entering the building. She’d never been to the carpentry shop before, but was hopeful that they’d help her with what she needed. As she entered, a small, tinkly bell rang to alert the family that there was a customer. There were slabs of samples of wood all over the walls, and different wooden desks, chairs, and other furniture that was for sale. As Bridgette scanned the furniture, a quiet, sweet voice appeared beneath her.

“Hello, ma’am! My name is Fawn, what can I help you with today?” one of the twins asked gently. She smiled up at Bridgette, a pink headband just barely visible through her thick, black hair to match her pink dress.

“Yes, actually, I was wondering if there was someone here that could help me fix my roof? It’s been leaking quite a bit when it rains, and it’s disturbing my customers down at the Inn,” Bridgette spoke to the young girl politely and without condescension. She always spoke to young people as they were her equals, remembering all too well how adults talked down to her when she was Fawn’s age.

“I can get go fetch one of my parents or my older siblings, you may browse further if you wish, we do have a sale on furniture going on, we can refurbish any old pieces you have at half price, as well as offer you lower prices on any of our existing sets. Take a look around, I’ll be right back with someone to help you, thank you!”

The young girl trotted away towards the back of the store through a swinging gate, and Bridgette thought about the store’s offer. She thought about perhaps bringing in the lounge chairs she had in the lobby, grimacing at the state of the lumpy seats and the cracked and worn leather. They were beaten up after years of use in her aunt and uncle’s living room, receiving them as a gift for her new Inn. She accepted them gratefully at the time, however after years of having them lay around in the lobby, watching the guests sit then proceed to furrow their brows at the cushioning, she realized they may have done more harm than good for her business. Plus, taking them in would probably cost them the same to fix them up than to just buy new sets altogether. As she weighed the pros and cons, Esmerelda came around the corner of a chest of drawers and greeted her warmly.

“Welcome! I hear you’ve been having some issues with your roof?”

Bridgette and Esmerelda spoke for a few minutes, Bridgette laying out the details of her leaky roof, lamenting about what she’d done to try and remedy it, and they came out to a fair price and set a date to fix it the following week. Bridgette would have to be careful with her money for the next month or so, but at least the problem would be fixed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Bridgette pondered for a moment, contemplating asking about a set of four nice maroon armchairs, touching the suede absentmindedly. Esmerelda picked up on this immediately and spoke.

“You know, if you buy these, I can talk to my parents and see if I can offer you these half price as well as doing the roof for free,” Esmerelda told her nicely. Bridgette’s face lit up immediately, but faltered as she thought about it further.

“That’s very kind, but I could never, Esmerelda.”

“Why not? We’ve been doing very well as of late, what with all of the Peter business going around,” Esmerelda harrumphed slightly at the name, ‘Peter’. Bridgette would have to inquire about this later, but listened intently, “so we could most likely afford to offer you a deal on the roof as well as the chairs! Besides, you’ve always been a bright addition to the town, and you watch out for my younger siblings and I all the time! Let us offer you this in exchange for all that you do, please?”

Bridgette sighed, but smiled gradually and nodded her head. Esmerelda returned the smile and scurried back through the gate that her younger sister had escaped through previously. She heard a quick exchange, and with that, Esmerelda returned briskly with a smile.

“My father said that he would do the roof for free, as well as offer you the chairs half off, as long as you continue to make sure none of us get into any shenanigans, deal?” Esmerelda grinned.

“Of course! Thank you so much, blessings to you and your entire family!” Bridgette exclaimed breathlessly. She and Esmerelda shook hands warmly, and made a plan for the chairs to be brought in when the roof was to be fixed. She thanked Esmerelda once more and skipped out of the shop, happy as ever. Once she was back out in the sunshine, she took out the scroll and crossed the task off of her list, scanning downwards to see what the next errand was. It was grocery shopping, and she took out the other list that had what she needed on it. Most of it she could find in the food section of the market, but she did need a new box of her morning tea which she would have to get at the Mossdrop Tea Shop. She picked up the marketplace groceries first, having a bit of fun haggling playfully with some of the shopkeepers. She got the supplies for the buns she would make later that night, as well as some assorted fruit and some chicken for her supper tonight. She took an apple out of her basket and munched on it as she made her way to the Tea Shop, one of her favorite places in town. The shop was always filled with herbal and fruity scents, a lovely calm atmosphere, and a friendly and exuberant owner, Mrs. Pippetwhistle. She was a woman with bright red hair which she wore messily piled atop her head, and oval framed glasses that stayed perched at the end of her nose. She always spoke quickly with excitement, enthusiastically explaining the properties of the daily teas and giving out tea leaf readings which was regularly met with laughter. Bridgette entered the shop and was immediately greeted by the sweet smell of honeysuckle and the sharpness of fioflower. She took a deep breath in and felt more energized as soon as she did so. Mrs. Pippetwhistle had her back turned to the door, writing the tea of the day on a chalkboard behind the counter. She always had fun names for them, this one being Sweetflame, with the different elements of the tea written in smaller script underneath. Bridgette approached the counter, waiting until Mrs. Pippetwhistle was done writing before clearing her throat to let her know that she was there. She turned around with a start, almost toppling off of the small stepladder she was perched on. When she saw that it was Bridgette, her mouth widened into a smile, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

“Well, hello there! If it isn’t my favorite customer,” Mrs. Pippetwhistle beamed, wiping her chalky hands on her apron, “long time, no see! What can I do for you, Bridgette?”

Bridgette smiled back and spoke, “I’ve ran out of my morning tea, the rhubarb oolong?”

“Perfect! I’ve just made a fresh batch, would you like the loose mix or in bags?” Mrs. Pippetwhistle turned and walked towards some drawers to the left of where Bridgette stood. Bridgette always got her morning tea in bags, less mess and less time-consuming. Bridgette took out the wooden box that she kept that particular tea in, having received it from her first batch of the tea. The writing on the front of it was worn from many mornings of handling, but it still did its job keeping the bags fresh.

“The usual twenty-five bags, I assume?” Mrs. Pippetwhistle asked. Bridgette nodded and she procured the bags quickly, turning and placing them in the wooden box neatly.

“Can I do anything else for you? I just thought of the tea of the day yesterday, as I’d found a rather large bush of fioflower the other day while on a walk. I thought it would go perfectly with some dried honeysuckle, I call it Sweetflame tea!”

“Now remind me, what does fioflower do again?” Bridgette asked curiously. She knew the scent well as it had a distinctly spicy and sharp smell to it, but she couldn’t remember the properties.

“Fioflower, of course, adds its pointed spice to anything you put it in, but it also allows you to speak quite eloquently for the next twenty-four hours without stumbling a bit over your words,” Mrs. Pippetwhistle recited from memory, “and mixed with the sweet floral of the honeysuckle, it tones down the over excitedness you get from fioflower and soothes you to a simply bright and energized personality, creating a perfect blend, fit for any occasion where first impressions are of the utmost importance!”

Mrs. Pippetwhistle spoke quickly, always passionate about her tea blends. She made most of the tea herself as this is where her passion lay. Bridgette took interest in this blend and decided to buy a few bags. Mrs. Pippetwhistle clapped her hands eagerly and wrapped the teabags in some tissue paper. Bridgette placed the package delicately into her basket, waved Mrs. Pippetwhistle goodbye, and was on her way. As she exited the tea shop, Bridgette took out her list and crossed that task off as well. Finally, she could return to the Inn and check on it. She’d had a nagging sense of anxiety the whole day because she’d left the Inn empty all day and worried that it would drive away potential guests.

_ “No matter, Bridgette, you’ve left a note, everything is going to be fine, you’re going to return home and not have missed a single customer, and you’re going to bake those delicious buns, and the aroma is going to attract tens of guests to the Inn and they’re all going to say ‘my, my, Bridgette, you’re so lovely! This Inn is the most welcoming place I’ve ever stayed! I will tell all of my friends and family, and-” _

Bridgette’s thoughts were interrupted by the courier shouting something about the sale going on at Winterfallow Carpentry right next to her, jolting her back into present time. She blushed a bit, scolding herself for daydreaming again and bustled hurriedly back home. When she arrived, the Inn was as desolate as she’d left it, and the hopeless feeling of the previous night creeped back in. Before it made itself comfortable, Bridgette shook it away and found her composure as she folded up the note she’d left and tossed it in the waste bin under the counter, walking back up the stairs to put away the groceries from the day. As she passed the table with the locked box for notes, she noticed the corner of a piece of parchment sticking out of the opening. She quickly brought it inside, setting her basket down on her kitchen counter and unlocking the box. The paper and ink that the note was written in was not that of those she’d left out, but instead a dark yellow parchment with scarlet ink. Someone had written the note before they’d came. The note read as follows:

Dear Girl From The Woods,

I’m terribly sorry about the scare I caused you a few weeks back. I was just as taken aback as you were as I don’t often get visitors around my hut. I truly did not mean to frighten you, however I’d like to thank you for not telling anyone of my presence in the woods. Townsfolk from places like Harbington don’t often take kindly to characters of my… profession. As a gift in return for your silence about me I’d like to invite you back to my hut for a cup of tea and perhaps a charm of your choosing. I’ve been watching the town for the past few weeks, waiting for any news about a dark witch living in the forest, and I’ve noticed that not many people stop by your Inn, and I’d like to offer my services to change that. As skilled as I may be in dark magic, this is not the only type of magic I deal in, meaning the charm, if you choose to accept, would be a good one, I promise.

Sincerely,

The Nightshade Witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I know I said once a week, but I've had the first four chapters written for a while so the next two chapters will be up pretty soon, but after that it'll be regular updates. Thanks for reading this chapter, this is when I started to get into a better rhythm with writing and realized an actual direction with the story so after this it'll be smooth sailing (or as smooth as I can manage... standard smoothness. Average turbulance. You're reading ASMR fanfic written by a university student struggling through an English program, you get what you click on. Joking aside, I love you all, thanks again for reading!)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridgette prepares for her meeting with Nightshade and surprises herself with some new unexpected thoughts about her. Meanwhile, a new guest arrives at the Inn bringing new and exciting stories along with them.

Bridgette read the note carefully, immediately suspicious at first. However, as she read further, the note seemed to be legitimately sincere and made the decision to take Nightshade up on her offer. She checked the time- just after four in the afternoon. Bridgette decided that she would close up the Inn at midnight, assuming that was a dark witch’s preferred meeting time. The note didn’t include a specific time, so Bridgette went off of her very scarce knowledge of dark witches and began to get ready. The note also didn’t include a return address, most likely because she lived in a hut in the woods, so Bridgette also was unable to write back to clarify or notify Nightshade of her arrival. She went into her room and looked in her mirror, analyzing her appearance.

“What do you wear to a get-together with a dark witch who lives in the forest?” Bridgette asked herself aloud, placing her hands on her hips. She had a nice velvet dress in a dark pine shade, she could pair that with her black cloak. Bridgette laid out the clothes on her bed, feeling the velvet between her two fingers before returning to her kitchen to bake the buns she’d been meaning to make. The mushrooms and basil had been sitting on her windowsill for quite some time under a few layers of cloth so they wouldn’t dry out, and Bridgette hoped and prayed that none of it had gone bad. She brought the small basket of ingredients to the counter and unwrapped it; bless the stars, all the mushrooms looked as fresh as when she picked them and the basil leaves had hardly withered at all. She smiled to herself as she put them all into a bowl to wash, letting the water run over the contents as she gathered the other supplies for the buns. The minutes ran by as she minced garlic, basil, mushrooms, and a hint of shimmer seed to give the buns a wash of positivity, finally forming the dough and putting the buns in her petite oven. She’d make twice as many buns as she thought she would, and just as she finished putting the final tray in the oven, she heard a bell from downstairs, alerting her to a guest entering the Inn. Bridgette wiped her floury hands on her apron, quickly taking it off before rapidly descending the stairs to the counter.

“Welcome to the Babblebrook Inn! I’m dreadfully sorry for the wait, I’ve been upstairs baking some delicious buns that I wish I could offer you right now, nevertheless, how may I help you this evening?” Bridgette managed breathlessly, yet graciously. The guest, a young rugged-looking man in a long trench coat, responded with a chuckle and spoke in a deep and clear voice.

“No trouble at all, hardly any wait anyway miss. I was wondering if I could rent a room for the night, you were recommended to me by the young gal at the Haberdashery and she spoke pretty highly of you, so I decided to stop by, you think you could do that for me?”

The man spoke kindly, fatigue present behind his words. He looked quite worn out, presumably from a long day of travelling.

“Of course sir, I’ll just get your name and I’ll show you to your room straight away!”

Bridgette beamed at the man, learning his name to be Welborne Hillflare, a man travelling all the way from Stagbury in the North. As Bridgette escorted him to one of the rooms, he told her about a tussle that he’d had with a Banefang, laughing heartily at how he’d forgotten to bury the chicken bones produced from one of his meals, as it attracted the large beast immediately to his camp. The creature came out of the fight mostly unscathed, as he’d managed to remember that Banefangs hated the smell of cimmurry, and before the fight got too out of hand, produced a good handful of the herb from his pack and blew it right into the animal’s face, sending him away, howling like the dickens. She gave Welborne the guest key to the room and bid him a good night, hurrying quickly back up the stairs to check on her buns. Thankfully none of them were burned, and in fact, Bridgette had arrived at the perfect time to take them out of the oven. They smelled just as delicious as she’d imagined they would and Bridgette couldn’t help but fawn just a little over the pale shine that the shimmer seed added. They looked like something out of a fairy tale, just as she’d envisioned. Once they were cool enough, Bridgette took a big bite out of one and melted almost instantly at the taste- they were a perfect blend of buttery, savoury, soft, and sweet, one of the best batches of buns Bridgette had ever made! She excitedly wrote down as much of the recipe as she could, hoping to add it to the Inn’s menu of food the guests could order. Before Bridgette knew it, it was nine o’clock, and she’d stuffed herself full of buns and some leftover chicken she’d had from her dinner the night before. Feeling satisfied, she wrapped up a few of the buns in some cloth and placed it in her basket so that she could take some to Nightshade’s hut. She hoped that the buns would help bring a positive energy to the meeting, as Bridgette had begun to feel a bit uneasy. No, not uneasy- nervous, but not scared. And not even really nervous- she struggled to put her finger on the emotion that she was feeling. It wasn’t fear, or anxiety… 

Finally, Bridgette caught on to the scent of her emotion- It was restlessness. She hadn’t had the opportunity to make a new friend in ages on account of her being so busy with the Inn. Her social personality was utterly desperate for a new social interaction, as risky as this one may be. However, she’d made up her mind about Nightshade and was determined to see the night out. To pass the time, Bridgette decided to attempt a few lines of poetry since it had been many moons since her last successful try at prose. She sat down at her desk, fixing the small clock she had there to face her, lest she forget where the time decided to fly. Dipping her quill in ink, she let her mind wander to the sights, smells, and sounds she’d experienced that day. Nothing extravagant came to mind right away, so she travelled backwards, searching for something to write about. At last, she arrived at her first interaction with Nightshade that evening in the woods. She began to write:

As moonbeams dance across the mistfully peaceful night,

Dirt under both our fingernails to connect us,

We meet, a fleeting and vibrant gaze fixed upon one another,

Your hair is ink any author begs to write with,

I wish to capture the consciousness of the moon to bottle and return to,

To wear as a fragrance,

To dance across my pillow bringing me o sweet,

Dream after dream.

Bridgette stops writing, heart beating fast for a reason unknown to her. She reads it back, her lips moving unconsciously sounding out every syllable. She likes it, but it’s strange to her. She’d never written anything like that before, not only about Nightshade but about darkness and night as well. Bridgette was never as fond of the moon as she was the sun or the stars. Her mother, never meaning any harm by it, told Bridgette fairy tales of the moon stealing from the sun and using the sun’s power for herself, transforming it into magic for the mischievous fae to play tricks on mortals. One story contained a chaos faerie who lured a young girl into a faerie circle who danced and played with the fae until the bottoms of her feet bled into the soil, feeding it so it would turn her into a tree. The faeries can still be heard shrieking with laughter as the girl called out for her mother as her vocal chords turned to hard bark. This story scared Bridgette the most, making the moon seem a dangerous force to be reckoned with. Her subconscious vowed to always be weary of the moon, only welcoming the light of stars in the night. So for Bridgette to write so fondly of the moon in her poem startled her a bit, the child deep in her mind wondering if it was the moon’s magic playing tricks on her. She shook the thought away quickly, deciding to focus on the things that she liked about her poem. It was vivid with imagery, something Bridgette had struggled to convey in her writing for as long as she could remember. Her thoughts went miles faster than her hands or her mouth, leaving spaces in her writing where creative details should live. But this time, she allowed herself to move through the memory slowly, painting the picture she saw that night. She also liked how the poem made her feel for the most part, letting herself smile at the mysteriousness of the story. It made her feel like a mystical entity who was strolling through the forest when it all happened, but she had control over everything in the forest and that nothing could touch her that she wasn’t prepared for. And Nightshade… Bridgette had only briefly mentioned her but it stood out the most to her, rereading the lines and making her heart beat fast. Something about how she wrote about their connection and how Bridgette viewed Nightshade was…

Bridgette checked the time- eleven thirty already! She stood up quickly, already changed into her dress for the night she pulled on her boots as fast as she could and grabbed her basket filled with buns. She blew out the candles lighting her home and with a flourish, snatched up her cloak before closing her door and locking it. She crept down the stairs slowly as not to wake Welborne, but took off as soon as she arrived at the bottom. She hurried out the door hastily into the night, setting her eyes firmly on the dark and dense woods perched ominously at the edge of Harbington, knowing with pent up excitement the wonders that lay within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter was a bit short, I didn't want to make it too drawn out because then it would have just been filled with meaningless gobbledegook, but I also didn't want to start the next segment of the story and make it way too long, so this is what I've ended up with. Thanks again for reading!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridgette meets Ivy at her hut and they discuss some orders of business over tea and buns.

Nightshade didn’t really know what she was waiting for. She’d kept her aura of mystery in writing the letter, not giving the girl any way of contacting her back or a set time for the meeting, and yet she sat at her large table that Nightshade had positioned right in the middle of the hut. It was surrounded by all sorts of things like candles, crystals, books, small chests filled with curiosities, bottles with potions and drinks, and so much more if you were to dig. This table was where she did almost everything in her craft, including the large surface to provide a good meeting space for her customers, as scarce as they may be. For now though, it would serve as just a simple table for two women to set their teacups down as they chatted.  
Wait, chatted? Nightshade stopped dead in the middle of preparing some tea for the two, almost dropping the kettle with the abruptness of her pause.  
“Chatting?” she sneered to herself. No, this was purely business. A payment to the girl in return for keeping her trap shut about the entire ordeal. As soon as this was over, this would be the end of the two’s interactions, lest she find herself in the vicinity of her hut again. If it came to that, Nightshade may have to take matters into her own hands. Regaining her equilibrium, she continues her task, producing a jar from a cupboard above her that contained a blend of tea she’d made out of nutmeg, veddianip, and ollafrass root to balance the different flavours out. She deposited a few tablespoons into her little steeper while she waited for the water to boil in the kettle. Looking at the clock and realizing it was just after eleven o’clock, she realized that an ordinary civilian would most likely not be out this late at night, even for a secret excursion with a dark witch.  
“Although,” she inquired aloud, “she was out almost this late during our last encounter, so are the possibilities really that slim?”  
The tea was a good blend to have late at night anyway with some added vanilla, so Nightshade made up her mind to make the tea anyway and wait to see what happens. She got a great deal of cleaning done regardless of if the girl came or not, so either way Nightshade decided it was a win-win. The kettle began to whistle, Nightshade rising to tend to it and make the rest of the tea hastily. She was almost as restless as Bridgette had been, eager to do something to get herself moving. With the tea made, Nightshade decided to root around in her cupboards for some kind of cookie or biscuit to go with the tea. As she opened up the doors of her cabinets, each action met with a puff of dust, she managed to scrounge up a well-aged box of vanilla cookies, spreading them out on a plate. She also found two tea cups, neither of them matching of course. Nightshade had made a habit of drinking exclusively out of goblets, a conscious decision made in her youth to add to her witchy aesthetic. Before Nightshade could begin to dive into her reminiscion, she was met with a knock at her door, an abrupt noise that cut through the rest of her home swiftly. Nightshade rose instantly, wiping down her skirt of any dust from her cupboard adventures and walked coolly to the door. Her black silk dress moved fluidly in the rest of the darkness of her home, almost liquid against the dark floors. Her head was adorned with a small circlet, a shining silver with an opal crescent moon in the middle of it. Nightshade was very fond of this headpiece as her mother had given it to her at a very young age. It was enchanted to grow with Nightshade so that it always fit her perfectly. She opened the door to a frankly breathless Bridgette, a dim lamp swinging in one hand and a woven basket in the other which was covered with a cloth.  
“I, um,” Bridgette breathed, “I wanted to get here at a time that would be comfortable for you.”  
“What, do you think that I’m a vampire?” Nightshade laughed. Bridgette blushed under her cloak, averting her eyes downward. Nightshade noticed this and tried to say something to remedy the situation.  
“Well, no matter. Thank you for caring about my, ahem,” Nightshade clears her throat before choking out the next part of her sentence, “feelings. And I’ve prepared some tea for your arrival anyway, so it all works out in the end, doesn’t it? Come inside, please.”  
Bridgette enters Nightshade’s hut, looking every which-way at her surroundings. The room was surprisingly cosy, items of all shapes and sizes cluttering bookshelves and end tables giving the room a well-loved but ultimately mysterious aura. Some of the jars that crowded the multiple surfaces were home to curious items that made you think twice about whether or not they could be organs. As Bridgette ogled at the space Nightshade cleared her throat once again and gestured to the table with the food and drink that was ready to at least be given a try if not consumed wholly. Nightshade pours each of them a mug of the tea, pushing Bridgette’s into her hands and pulling her own close to her chest to absorb the warmth as much as she could through her fingers. She doesn’t look or speak to Bridgette yet until she notices the basket that Bridgette had brought with her containing the buns. Curiously, Nightshade inquires about them.  
“What’s in the basket little red riding hood?” she asked coolly. Bridgette blinks suddenly at the interruption of silence but happily heaves her basket onto the table and pulls back the cloth to reveal the buns, shimmering in the dim candlelight.  
“They’re mushroom basil buns,” she states proudly, “they’re actually made from the ingredients that I scavenged that night. I thought they might make a sort of ironic addition to tonight’s menu.”  
Bridgette giggles slightly and Nightshade smiles kindly.  
“Why thank you very much, I’m sure they’re delicious. And I see that you’ve added a hint of shimmer seed as well, judging by the glimmer on them. Thought I might bite, did we?” Nightshade teases as she picks up a bun and takes a bite. Bridgette blushes a deep scarlet and stuffs her face with one as well to hide the redness. Nightshade groans in ecstasy at the taste of the sweet and flavorful bread, quickly taking another bite.  
“These are delicious, what did you put in these to make them so delectable, himpkower?” Nightshade exclaims, taking another bun and cramming it into her mouth. Bridgette nearly spits her tea out at Nightshade’s statement and covers her mouth quickly as to not spray tea everywhere from laughter. She shakes her head furiously as her cheeks ache from smiling and swallows her tea so she could answer.  
“Nope, only what I told you and what you deduced for yourself. It was my grandma’s recipe for the dough though, and we Meadowoods love our breads!”  
“I can tell, you’ve absolutely perfected the recipe! You must make these again for me sometime!” Nightshade says before realizing that this would mean having another meeting. She immediately sits up and smooths her skirt, regaining her composure, “that is, if you, ahem, survive the current meeting. This one. That we’re having right now. Then perhaps we’ll talk.” she stammers out, blinking rapidly. She makes a mental note to scold herself later for that one. Bridgette finds it endearing but chooses to keep it to herself as to not embarrass Nightshade further. She’s beginning to realize that this witch may hold a little more depth of emotion than she lets on. With this, Bridgette matches Nightshade’s posture and sets her face to a neutral expression, nodding understandably. This seems to satisfy Nightshade enough to move on to their point of business.  
“Right. Well, enough pleasantries, we’re here for more than that. What spell do you wish for me to perform? I can do anything you desire, a curse on your most foul enemies, perhaps a glamour for any confidence issues you may wish to smooth out, luck charms, creativity sachets-”  
“I was actually wondering if you could perhaps help me with my Inn,” Bridgette interrupts, “you see, it’s not doing as well as I would have hoped. I’m losing my savings very quickly to repairs and decorations to help bring customers in, however nothing is truly working well enough to bring in substantial profit. I don’t want to steal from guests, but if you could just put some sort of luck or wealth charm on my Inn to help draw people to it I would be very grateful.”  
Nightshade taps her finger on her lips in thought, searching through the recesses of her mind for something that could be useful. Most of the magic she did was that of curses and jinxes, making them the priority at the forefront of her mind so she was going to really have to dig deep to find something to help Bridgette. Finally, she remembered something from the early stages of her craft.  
“There is a prosperity ritual that I can perform, however it will have to wait until the new moon that’s arriving in a week. I’ll need something to tie you to the spell, say, a lock of your hair, some of your spit or blood, some of your nails, a tooth-”  
“The hair is fine, thank you very much!” Bridgette interjects, alarm apparent in her tone. Nightshade gets up from the table and sifts through a drawer near them to find a pair of scissors as well as bustling about trying to find an empty jar or flask to put the hair in for safe keeping. Supplies in hand, she returns to the table and hands both of the items to Bridgette who reaches to the nape of her neck to gather a suitable amount of curls to slice off. She deposits the lock of hair into the bottle and hands both of them to Nightshade who then returns the scissors to their drawer and places the bottle on a shelf with a family of other curiosities. There is a heavy silence that falls on the pair as the night comes to a close, both of them feeling in the pit of their stomachs that they didn’t necessarily want it to end so soon. Alas, Nightshade too proud of a character to admit it even to herself, and Bridgette too fond of the two’s new potential friendship to scare it off so soon, neither will let on that there may be just an inkling of a new experience for the both of them on a horizon that’s closer than it appears. Curt goodbyes are exchanged between the two women as Bridgette fastens her cloak to sit securely on her shoulders, and she departs briskly, catching one last glimpse of Nightshade’s glittering eyes before she sets out for the night. The scene that has been set is one of unfamiliarity for the two of them, nevertheless one of excitement and intrigue as they go their separate ways for the time being. Though there is one thing that glows sure and true in the dead of the night, and that would be Bridgette’s cheeks, bright as the moon and stars themselves.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow Nightshade through one of her usual days and meet four new faces!

Ivy wakes up at her usual hour of about three in the afternoon, stretching out her body like a cat rising from a particularly good nap in the sunlight, blinking groggily and shaking her head about to get her more alert. As a child, she was made fun of by the other children of her village for never being awake at a normal hour, the parents of these children always giving her mother and grandmother disapproving glances whenever they were out in public. Nightshade never attended any classes with the other kids nor did she regularly associate with them as any other child would. Not that she minded much as she found the comfort of her home with her family a much more welcoming atmosphere than that of the harsh and loud streets of her neighborhood. Kids her age were always screaming bloody murder about something or another, always shrieking in disgust and glee at the miscellaneous frogs and lizards that made their home in the ponds and fountains that littered the village. They would always come knocking at the Nightshade household asking for Ivy. This was rarely ever met with anything other than a polite but direct explanation from one of the older women in the house that she was studying and couldn’t come out at that time. Her grandmother a rather traditional witch would often sneer at the children once closing the door, grumbling about how they were little ruffians and swearing to my mother that she’d caught one of them looking through the windows or rifling through her garden. She would always vow to snatch one of the little hooligans and teach them a lesson by giving them a tail and ears to match their beastly behaviour. Ivy’s mother would assure her that her grandmother was just teasing and that her friends would be fine. Ivy didn’t care either way as the children were never truly her friends and were very cruel to her. They didn’t understand the Nightshades and back then dark magic was a great deal less common than now so they’d ask her silly questions like whether she’d ever kissed a toad or if her mother wore a pointed hat around the house. Ivy never understood these questions as her mother and grandmother kept the fairytale storybooks tucked away from her curious hands so she wouldn’t get upset at the horrible pictures of women with long, gnarled fingers handing out poisoned apples to innocent young girls, sending them away for a deep and eternal sleep. This was when she was young though; as she grew to be a teenager and gathered a small group of friends who didn’t mind all of the barriers that came with being her friend, she began to realize how naive she’d been as a child. She realized that people saw witchcraft as something dark and hellish, the Devil’s work. She grew jaded and stopped talking to her friends, giving all of her time to her craft and working to become the best witch she could possibly be for her mother and grandmother.

Shaking off the dark memories of her childhood, Nightshade kicks off her navy sheets and wanders into her kitchen to make some food for herself. Ivy had a very strict daily ritual of lazing about in her nightgown after she woke up and always made and consumed her breakfast in it until she finally had to start her day. She also wondered if using the terms ‘breakfast’ and ‘day’ were really appropriate words for her to apply to her ritual, but after a while of practicing her routine it didn’t matter to her anymore. No one was around to correct her or give her any other words to use so she just continued with what she knew. For her breakfast, Nightshade usually made something sweet with fresh fruit like a piece of toast with homemade jam, or some sort of oatmeal with strawberries and raspberries from her garden. Today it would be the latter as it was notably cold out that afternoon. She put the kettle on and went out a side door to her gated garden.

Ivy had always loved the outdoors but was never particularly fond of them in the mornings, or rather when the sun was out. Instead, Ivy yearned for the cool embrace of the night when the moon was out and greeted her like a familiar friend, soon making the moon the only friend that Ivy truly had. She relished the time when the harsh jab of sunlight disappeared over the horizon and she could be alone with just her thoughts and the comforting blanket of moonbeams dressing her in a gown of soft light. Here she was safe and soon learned to gather most of her energy from the moonlight, imagining herself bottling it up in the center of her diaphragm where she could open it up and pour it into whatever magic she was performing. Almost all of the Nightshade witches before Ivy were lunar witches, certainly the most powerful ones- and Ivy was most definitely not an exception.

However, Ivy had also learned to accept daylight as an ally as well, the biggest element of this being her crows; Ivy had received a murder of crows for her fourteenth birthday from her grandmother, Adelaide. Adelaide had noticed that these crows had taking a liking to the medley of seeds that fell from the various trees surrounding the Nightshade home so Adelaide decided to give Ivy the responsibility of taking care of these crows and making sure they were fed properly, groomed regularly, and felt safe around the Nightshades. Ivy had never felt so ecstatic about anything before these three crows came into her life. There were two girls, whose names were Juniper and Daphne, and one boy who she named Cricket. As Ivy began to care for these crows they began to care right back and brought her little trinkets whenever they could. Each of her crows had a distinct personality as well- Juniper being the matriarch of the group and keeping the rest of them in check, Daphne being the most cheeky of the bunch who brought Ivy the most gifts, and Cricket being the most affectionate out of the trio, always squawking for more scratches under the beak. Nightshade arrived at her garden to be greeted by the three, each with something in their beak eagerly awaiting a prize for their gift.

“Good afternoon my darlings, what do we have this time?” Nightshade croons, producing the pear-coloured pouch that contained the crows’ seeds. She started with Daphne’s present which was an owl-shaped brooch that was slightly rusted and dirty, most likely from being buried by time and the elements after being lost by a traveller. Daphne’s pleased face waited patiently for her reward as Nightshade examined the brooch, turning it in her hand meticulously and wiping away at the dirt.

“Good work my dear, this is dazzling!” Ivy pats Daphne on the head a few times before depositing the seeds in Daphne’s dish. Daphne makes a sound of satisfaction before digging into her serving. Nightshade turns next to Juniper who had something larger. This time it’s a mound of quartz slightly smaller than a peach pit that glints in the sunlight. It’s surprisingly clean which makes Ivy slightly suspicious of where Juniper acquired it. She takes it slowly, flashing Juniper a knowing eye. Juniper looks down, almost shameful which causes Ivy to laugh.

“Oh my sweet Juniper, don’t be so sheepish! This is delightful, no matter where you got it from. I do confess, I’m even proud of you for bringing this to me, even if it is under perhaps morally grey circumstances,” Nightshade says to Juniper in a comforting tone. She lifts Juniper’s head with her index finger and gives her a light kiss on the tip of her beak. Juniper stays silent but seems to have cheered up and begins to eat the seeds that Nightshade has put in her dish. Finally she turns to Cricket who gives her a loud caw as soon as she looks at him. Nightshade smiles and holds out her hand for Cricket to drop his gift into which seems to be a slightly bent bronze watch arm. The delicate string of metal feels like nothing in Nightshade’s hand until she pokes her finger on the point of it, leaving a deep indent but producing no blood. She deposits this into her pocket making a note in her mind to take it out and put it somewhere safe. Cricket caws again, apparently quite impatient waiting for his treats. Ivy chuckles and pours some seeds into the last bowl and tucks the pouch away and returns back inside to draw a bath and get dressed. 

Nightshade strides into her bathroom, wrapped luxuriously in her silk robe. This robe was one of her favorite things to wear around the house, especially when she’s about to spend some time to herself away from her craft. Ivy had moments in her life, particularly when mercury was in retrograde and she felt bogged down by magic. This would be when she did the most self-care and indulged in her emotions to allow herself to love herself. Ivy was mostly taught by her grandmother that her body, her magical abilities, were to be utilized in giving back only to her deities and the universe around her. She was a servant to her craft instead of her craft serving her. This was a huge conflict between her grandmother and mom, as her mother wanted Ivy’s teachings to be a positive experience as the classical teachings of witchcraft often lead young witches to be afraid of their powers or to see them as a burden. Ivy’s mother was solely taught by her mother, Ivy’s grandmother. She’d experienced first-hand what some aspects of the classic teachings did to young witches and vowed to never do this to her own daughter if she ever had one. Ivy’s mom shielded most of the negativity from Ivy, but her grandmother still managed to drill a few practices into her mind.

Ivy leaned over the basin and began to draw a bath, the gold of the tub glistening from the dim glow of a single candle. Deciding to have some fun, Ivy decided that she’d add a bit of magic to her bath in the form of a glamour. A childlike glee creeped into the pit of her stomach, tempting a giggle to burble forth from her throat. Leaving the bath to fill, she went to retrieve the materials she needed to do the glamour. It had been years since she’d done this glamour, or any glamour for that matter and yet she’d never forget what she needed or the execution of it.

Once she’d gathered and prepared the ingredients, Ivy settles into the basin, the area around her lit with gold, pink, and white candles, she began the spell and was dipped into the fond memory of her first glamour. Ivy recalls her teenage years; it was a time when she still had her friends and they’d made plans to go walking through the pumpkin patch before they’d attend the All Hallow’s Eve Festival. The girls told Ivy the night before the festival that a group of boys from their classes wanted to come with them. This initially confused Ivy as the girls seemed to be acting very silly in her opinion.

“Why are you all babbling like pixies, what’s the big deal?” Ivy asked, frustrated with their behaviour. Finally, Evelyn, one of the girls sighed with exasperation and told Ivy.

“Well first of all, they’re boys! They’re a big deal!” Ivy still doesn’t understand but listens on anyway, “and secondly… one of them  _ asked  _ about you.”

The girls burst with excited laughter, eagerness like lightning in their eyes.

“So… the big deal is… that someone wants me to do some cheap magic tricks for entertainment, I’ve told you girls time and time again that witchcraft doesn’t work like that and I cannot turn princes into frogs or produce sparks from my fingers, now if you’ll excuse me-”

Ivy begins to bustle away, her ears burning from her annoyance before the girls stop her.

“What Evelyn means is that Damon is  _ interested  _ in you!” Flora, one of the other girls, explains.

“If he wants to be a witch he can talk to my grandma, she knows a coven of all boys in Evervale,” Ivy shrugs.

“Dear Gods, Ivy, he likes you! He wants to know you! He wants to hold you in his arms in the moonlight and-”

“Alright, cease, I get it! I think.” Relationships weren’t an often talked about subject in the Nightshade household, and most of the talk about men were geared towards Gods and deity worship. Ivy never really had any interest in any of that anyway and the majority of her time and attention was devoted to her craft.

“So, what do I do? Does it really matter?” Ivy asked with uninterest. This was answered with the girls yelling ‘yes’ in unison.

“Of course it does! You want him to like you back, right?”

“I suppose?”

“Yes! So what you’re going to do is wear your nicest dress, put on some rouge and dazzle the boy!”

“This sounds like a lot of work,” Ivy began to squirm a bit at the thought of all this. She didn’t even know this boy, or any boy for that matter. Her mind begins to wander to her father before she’s snapped out of it by Flora grabbing her shoulders.

“Ivy, my dear, it  _ is  _ a lot of work. But it’s worth it! He could be your soul mate!”

Ivy snorts at this but gives in to her peers’ advice. They tell her to wear a nice dress and to brush her hair and pin it back to show her eyes and to try to make herself look pretty. Ivy didn’t know about makeup, but she did know about glamours. The only thing was that she wasn’t really allowed to practice “self-indulgent” craft, a rule set by her grandmother, and glamours were a part of that rule. She’d have to do it in secret. So later that night, Ivy gathered the following: sea salt, some dried rose petals, an assortment of extracts, a bunch of candles, some incense, a small silver mirror, a perfume bottle, and the largest piece of rose quartz she could find, and ran to her bathroom and locked the door. She drew herself a warm bath as she lit the candles she’d gathered and poured in the salt and rose petals that she’d crushed all together. Soaking in the bath and breathing the scent of the incense in deeply, she began to envision herself turning into the most beautiful version of herself. She saw herself with her sleek black hair piled on top of her head with two golden rods stuck through to fix it in place. Her skin glowed and she looked happy, genuinely happy. She felt powerful, a gown of gold and navy draped across her skin. She is barefoot and sits in a simple chair surrounded by the fae in a clearing in the forest, one that seems familiar to Ivy as she bathes in present tense and recalls this memory. The Ivy that she’d been envisioning was an older version of herself, and she turns her head in the vision to face a woman with greying hair and a warm smile. Before this other woman can fully come into focus, Ivy hears her mother knock on the bathroom door.

“Ivy, I smell smoke and dragon’s blood incense, what’s going on in there?”

The young Ivy jerks her eyes open and sits up in the bathtub, causing the rose quartz and mirror that were perched on the basin’s edge to fall into the tub with a loud “plunk”.

In a panic, Ivy calls out, “I’m not doing anything mother, I’ve just lit some candles for um,” she plucks each of the items out of the water and puts them on a towel to dry, “ambience!”

She’s met with a moment of silence before her mother unlocks the door and steps in delicately.

“Mom! I’m bathing, get out!” Ivy squawks, drawing her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms across her body. Her mother chuckles lightly and averts her eyes downward to the things on the ground.

“Why do you have so many candles lit, darling? And what are you about to do with that rose quartz, and that mirror, and my… perfume?” she asks. Ivy blushes deeply and hangs her head.

“Nothing, I’m just… I’m just having a bath before the festival.” Ivy says quietly.

“You can tell me if you’re doing magic. You know I’m not your grandma,” Ivy’s mother crouches and picks up the mirror, drying the surface with the towel. She runs a hand through Ivy’s hair and waits patiently for Ivy’s answer, her presence warm and understanding.

“I just-” Ivy starts, then deeply sighs and tells her mother the truth, “so, the festival is tonight. And my friends said that a boy had asked about me which apparently means that he likes me, so now I have to put on a dress and brush my hair and make myself look nice so that he’ll continue to like me.”

Ivy’s mother, Zaleria Nightshade, is reminded once again how similar her daughter is to herself. She sighs and kisses her daughter on the cheek.

“You know, I did the same thing when I was your age. I was convinced by my friends that I needed to make myself look nice for some  _ boy  _ just because they thought that’s what the custom was. But the thing that I didn’t realize, and the thing that you probably didn’t realize, is that none of it matters if you’re not feeling your best. You don’t need to do anything for anyone else. Wear what you feel comfortable with wearing because this night isn’t about impressing anyone, it’s about fun!”

Ivy nods at her mom and smiles.

“Alright, I’ll let you finish your bath however you choose, but just know that you don’t  _ need  _ to do anything for anyone, understand? I love you, Ivy.”

“I love you too,” Ivy beams at her mother as she blows her daughter a kiss leaves the bathroom. She soaks for a few minutes more before emerging from the basin and wrapping herself in a soft towel.

Nightshade departs from her flashback and is back into her current reality, the same smells dripping from the walls of her bathroom. She looks fondly upon the memory, the warmth of her emotions matching the temperature of the water that covered her body. But suddenly, she realizes that her envisionment of beauty wasn’t so much of an envisionment, but a premonition of her future self. Nightshade and her family were never really known for their psychic abilities and divination was always through tarot or oracle cards, and yet Nightshade felt so strongly that this was a look into her future self and where she was in present day. But who was the woman she looked at? The more she focused, the blurrier the other figure became. Frustrated, Ivy directed her attention to finishing her glamour and her bath so that she could finish the other tasks of the night. She had plans to make a soup that would go nicely with the buns that Bridgette had left her, a nice bright squash soup would pair deliciously with the basil. She salivated at the thought of those buns, the sweet and buttery bread bringing a smile to her face. Hastily, Ivy finished the spell and drained the basin, stepping carefully around the candles that created a maze to her robe that hung on the door. She caught a glimpse of her body in the mirror that glistened in the candlelight. It had been ages since she thought herself to be beautiful, but tonight there was something different she saw in herself. The glamour of course made her look and feel slightly more regal, but there was a note of something else that she couldn’t quite grasp. It antagonized her, the new element teasing her brain. She replaced it with annoyance and sneered as she swept her arm across the room, putting the candles out with her magic. Witchcraft was a tricky thing, but sometimes you could harness it enough to bend the laws of reality for small tasks, especially when there was an abundance of fiery emotion. She decided to do a tarot card reading to sort her emotions out. She felt so overwhelmingly frazzled, the only thing she could think to do was to ask for some help and guidance from the powers beyond.

Nightshade bursts through the curtain off the side of the main room of her hut. This was her divination room and mostly hosted readings for herself with a few stray customers coming in and paying for simple three-card spreads. It got her enough gold pieces for self-indulgent splurges like a new robe or a beautiful ring. Ivy made most of her clothes and farmed most of the food she ate, but every now and again she relished the opportunity to slip past the general public to be a part of a community for a moment. Ivy often wondered if she was something of a town spectacle whenever she arrived. She was rarely dressed in what you would call “everyday garb” so she caught the occasional bewildered glance, but it never bothered her. She went so rarely that people never remembered her and most likely thought her to be another traveller arriving in Harbington for a quick rest and to revel briefly in the quaint nature of the town. Nevertheless, she lit the candles that lined the perimeter of the room and retrieved her cards. Something about not knowing about what was going on with her emotions or that vision was nagging her relentlessly and she needed to get to the bottom of it. She closed her eyes and felt the worn cards slip through her hands, the knowledge from the universe seeping into her mind through her fingers. She felt a warmth cascade upon her in the room, the candles burning brighter, the colours of the cards growing even more vivid. Her mind cleared, leaving only her question standing desolate in the field-like expanses of her brain. She shuffled the cards in her usual manner, the way her mother taught her. Divination through cards was something the Nightshade family actually had  _ fun  _ with, the act of reading presenting far less rigid even from Ivy’s grandmother’s teachings. The art of tarot was something you were supposed to  _ feel,  _ and as long as you received some sort of clarity at the end of it, the way you got there didn’t matter.

As usual, Ivy cut the deck with her right hand then proceeded to shuffle three times, laying out three cards as she asked the universe and deities her question.

“What the hell is going on with me?” Nightshade whispers, exasperated and desperate for her answer. She surveys the cards before her and seeks out the meanings as they pertain to her life. The first card she sees is The Lovers- partnerships, union, duality and choice. Ivy is slightly taken aback by this card but reminds herself that The Lovers don’t always correspond to romantic love, and can always mean that she’s found a new partnership with a new person like Bridgette. Yes, of course that’s what it meant. Ivy moved on to the next card, which was the Three of Pentacles. This card represented teamwork, collaboration, and building.  _ Again,  _ she thought,  _ pertaining to Bridgette with her Inn.  _ Finally, she glanced at the final card- the Ten of Swords. It showed a young woman with black hair, dead, blood running through her dress from the ten rose thorns that stay stuck into her body, the tips stained red. This card represented betrayal, backstabbing, and defeat. This card she was confused about but suddenly a thought brushed through her mind, just brief enough to make her wonder.

“Is it- is it Bridgette?” Ivy whispered as she took another card from the top of her deck, placing it on top of the Ten of Swords. It was the Queen of Swords, representing complexity, perceptiveness, and clear-mindedness. This eased her mind a great deal, her intuition telling her to trust her instincts and have a clear mind about Bridgette. The Ten of Swords didn’t represent her- Ivy felt sure enough about that.

Growing drowsy from the energy she spend on reading, she decided to quit while she was ahead and moved to return her cards to the silk pouch she kept them in, gathering the cards she’d drawn and putting them in the stack. As she slid them in, a card slipped from the deck and onto the table. Remembering her teachings well, she knew that this was a card that she needed to examine just as much as the cards drawn in her reading and picked it up to look at. The Empress- representing fertility, motherhood and nature.

“Nature!” Ivy gasped aloud, remembering that she’d almost forgotten to tend to her garden. She quickly thanked the universe and deities for guiding her thoughts to clarity and promised to leave an offering that night. Returning the pouch onto a small shelf in the corner of the room, Nightshade arrived outside yet again, checking on her fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Her deathbells had been particularly fussy lately and she’d made sure to check on them every night before she began making her dinner.

“Hello my lovelies, you’re looking particularly dazzling this evening aren’t you?” Nightshade crooned at the violet flowers, their petals making an umbrella that hung down, shining in the moonlight. They weren’t as bright and peppy as she’d liked and had been working tirelessly to restore them to their previous glory.

“What would you like, perhaps some moon water? Oh, of course, you must be so absolutely parched waiting for me,” Ivy continued, producing a watering can full of fresh moon water she’d left out last night specially for her deathbells. She meticulously poured the water near the base of the flowers, giving the other items in her garden a healthy splash as well. Next, she turned and retrieved a medium-sized vial of pearl pepper extract, a relatively rare substance to come across but a frequently sought out product by gardeners and green thumbs alike for its ability to help speed up the recovery of any plant’s ailment. Ivy made her own of course, even adding in just a dash of shimmer seed for extra sheen, but only brought it out for special occasions or when she was in dire need of help. She added one drop to each bell, the extract resembling quicksilver for just a moment before the flowers absorbed the substance, leaving behind a delightful glitter. The flowers immediately began to perk up, becoming brighter instantaneously.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Nightshade soothed, the deathbells all but nodding at her in response. The usage of shimmer seed reminded her of the buns that Bridgette had made, making her hungry again of course but making her giggle as well. She wondered how Bridgette had felt that night, being so nervous to see her that she put shimmer seed in her buns to ensure that Ivy wouldn’t snap at her, or worse. This made Ivy sad, almost disappointed in herself for scaring the poor young woman.

“Am I really that scary?” Ivy asked aloud, allowing her head to fall just slightly. She furrowed her brows and frowned.

“ _ No matter, _ ” she thought, “ _ after this new moon, it won’t make a difference what she thinks of me, we won’t see each other again. This whole business will be done and over with and I can return to…” _

What would she return to? Sulking in the forest? Feeding crows, taking care of flowers that commonfolk find monstrous, taking care of  _ herself  _ which commonfolk find monstrous. Nightshade grew more melancholy, looking down at her hands wondering what she was meant to do in this life. She was still very young, especially for a witch, and she never really had any lasting relationships to look upon. She’d sequestered herself long ago, save for perhaps one individual, Willow. They did get into some hijynx back in the day but hadn’t had much contact after they…

Just then, Ivy heard some rustling- an animal? No, much too strong of footsteps to be an animal. She scanned the forest, scrutinizing between the trunks of trees until she made out a figure. She gathered her skirts and straightened her back, but just before she prepared to call out in her usual manner, she remembered Bridgette. Perhaps she’d returned! She smiled, a tinge of glee peeking through her dimples.

Her voice rang out clearly through the thin clearing, a great deal of menace missing from her voice, “Hello, is someone there?”

“Y-Yes, I-” a deep voice that certainly didn’t belong to a kind and mousy innkeep stuttered, “I- I don’t mean to disturb, I- I’m here for your… services?”

Nightshade’s ordinary demeanour returned to her quickly, her voice deepening to her silky and cold tone.

“Well, I have many of those. But I assume you’re here because you’ve heard rumours of a dark witch who once tempted a naive young woman into biting into a particularly forbidden apple back in her prime, and now you’ve trekked through the woods- unequipped with a lantern for some reason,” Nightshade chuckled darkly towards the source of the voice. She often enjoyed playing with her customers, making them feel small and scared. It helped with payment and was one of her only sources of entertainment. Especially with men, the big brutish ones who needed to be put in their place. Offering her chaos louse larvae in return for necromancy, the nerve!

She can see the figure clearly now, a young clean-shaven man with blonde hair that has become a home to an array of sticks and leaves with torn brown trousers. He had a bag that seemed to be full but not quite heavy which interested Nightshade enough to let up on her taunts.

“Why, hello pet! Tell me, what do I owe this pleasure?” Nightshade emerged from her garden through the side gate, approaching this beaten-down creature with grace. He gulps loudly and drops to one knee, bowing his head shakily.

“Oh, dark and powerful Nightshade Witch, I’ve come to beseech you for a favour, one that you do not owe my dismal self, however I-”

“Young man, you may quit the theatrics. I’m not the Raven Queen you know, but if you wanted to see her to put on this display I do know a lovely man who could organize that for you. Oh, what was his name, it started with a K…”

The boy scrambled to his feet, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“I apologize. I’ve never- I don’t know the protocol of uh…” he looks down at his feet, tapering off.

“Asking for a curse from a witch in a forest? Well darling, as long as you don’t try to burn me alive I’m sure we can sort something out.”

The boy lets out a quick and nervous laugh, following Nightshade as she guided him into her home and to the main room.

“How did you know I was going to ask you to curse someone?” the boy asked, his eyes wandering around the room, grimacing at the stray skull and mysterious liquid-filled jar. 

“Well I could say magic, but in all honesty you’re not the first young and squirrely creature to come upon my home and ask the same favour. So let’s just chalk it up to intuition. Now,” Nightshade clapped her hands together, making the boy jump, “first order of business- what’s your name, little one?”

“Arwin. Arwin Flatleaf.”

Nightshade writes the young man’s name down on a piece of parchment that held her other customer’s names. She decided long ago that if she was going to run a business, it needed to be organized just in case anything went wrong or if the victim of a curse wanted some revenge on their curser. She always took it on a case-by-case basis though. The circumstances and severity always needed to match, and if they refused to comply she’d deal with that. Nightshade put up with no unprofessional tomfoolery, and if they thought that she did then it would certainly be their mistake.

“Now Arwin, why have you sought me out this evening?”

Arwin’s face grew to show annoyance, his voice matching his expression, “That imbecile, Peter. He’s always ruining everything, and this time it was my sister’s wedding. My sister invited the whole village to her beautiful wedding as she’s such a caring and warm individual, so naturally, everyone came including Peter. The ceremony was beautiful, everyone cried and complemented how beautiful her and her wife’s dresses were after the ceremony, and they truly were so beautiful. Anastasia at the Haberdashery truly did a wonderful job with the dresses as they always do but of course SOMETHING had to go wrong, and that was Peter. As the two were cutting the cake, Peter somehow managed to stumble into the table, getting cake and Mrs. Pippetwhistle’s crimsonberry punch all over their gorgeous dresses! The cake was easy enough to get out, but you know how crimsonberry stains so their dresses were absolutely ruined. And that’s why I want to curse the wretched fiend.”

Nightshade scribbles down Peter’s name and “ruined wedding- stained dresses” onto the paper in their correct spaces, sets down her quill and looks across the table at Arwin.

“Yes, that’s all well and good, but what I meant was what  _ kind  _ of curse would you like me to put on him? With the severity of the situation, I wouldn’t suggest blinding him or anything like that, however-”

“Oh, no, no, nothing of the sort! No, I was thinking something that would teach him a lesson, help him learn from his mistakes. I’m mad at the fool, but he never really seems to mean any harm by his actions, as frequent as they are. He’s a fumbly twit, but I’d rather that he’d be a fumbly twit with his eyesight please.”

“Oh! How… refreshing,” Nightshade chokes out.  _ He’s one of those customers with a heart, delightful. _

“So, can you help me?” Arwin asks quietly.

“I suppose so, but it will certainly cost you an arm and a leg,” Nightshade snickers. She sees the horror on Arwin’s face and rolls her eyes a bit, “Oh come now pet, I’m teasing of course. I have no use for your arms and legs, human bones are a copper piece a dozen and  _ very  _ easy to come by. But I am very curious as to what’s in that bag of yours…”

Nightshade leans forward as Arwin brings the bag up on the table.

“Well, they’re not much to look at, but there’s something about them that I thought might interest you,” he says as he dumps the items on the table. The stones that tumble out make no noise, even as they crash together and roll around, settling in place. Some of them are perfect spheres, the others are just normal-looking rocks that you’d find anywhere else. They all have a slightly peculiar texture, almost like the outside of them is a sheet that’s been pulled tight around a surface with intricate patterns, so smooth and flowing that there was no way the details were carved into the stones. Nightshade knows exactly what these are and her eyes sparkle with interest.

“Where in the world did you manage to find these?” she asks excitedly, picking up one of the spherical ones and tossing it in the air easily as they held no weight whatsoever.

“I was down at Telswaft Pond just digging around, skipping stones and whatnot and I found them and decided to keep them. What are they, are they valuable?”

“These, my little Arwin, are Startaglin stones, one of the rarest stones in existence. They’re completely weightless and produce no sound at all and are often used as good luck charms and offerings for powerful and particular deities among a plethora of other uses. Elves and dwarves are lucky to find even just one in their whole existence, but you’ve managed to bring me fourteen of them!”

“So, they’re good enough to get you to do the spell, right?”

“Arwin, they’re  _ more  _ than good enough. Are you sure you want me to have all of them? I rarely say this, but this is a remarkable compensation young man. I would have accepted a lucky rabbit’s foot for what you’re asking me to do.”

“Well, I don’t really have much use for them Miss Nightshade. With all due respect, I would believe you need them more than I do.”

“Very well. What I will tell you though is that if you ever happen to come into any situation where you would need my services again, don’t bother bringing payment. That is my gift to you. I- thank you.” Nightshade tells Arwin, a slight smile on her face. Arwin grins widely, taking his bag from off the table and standing up. Arwin bows haphazardly and departs from the room.

“I’ll have the spell done tomorrow night!” Nightshade calls out to the boy as he runs out of her hut and into the darkness. She chuckles to herself as she gathers the stones and puts them in a chest under a bookshelf with the other extremely valuable items she’s received. She locks it and transmutes the key into a cup of water, a trick that she learned from Willow back in the day.

Nightshade, remembering that she needed to make herself some dinner and do her nightly offerings, hurries to her kitchen to cut up the squash she’d been saving for her soup. Once this was done, she put the cubes into a pot to boil and soften and departs into arguably her most favorite room in her house, her worshipping room. This was where she felt the most safe, the most in her element. It was a pretty small room, just large enough to fit the essentials. She had a decently-sized altar at the head of the room with shelves and counters surrounding the rest of it. Right now, her altar was Mabon-themed and was surrounded with candles of red, orange, gold and yellow to represent the changing of the leaves. She had cinnamon sticks and coloured leaves scattered around as well, making sure that none of them were near the candles of course. In the center, she’d laid out quartz and citrine in an intricate pattern, giving her altar glints of shine when the candlelight hit the crystals just right. She lit some cinnamon incense and let herself get accustomed to the smells and atmosphere of the room before going to one of the shelves next to her altar and retrieving the loaf of bread that she kept there for offerings. The deity that Nightshade had always found the strongest connection to was the Greek goddess Hecate, the goddess that most witches worshipped as she was the goddess of magic and witchcraft. Nightshade also left offerings to other gods as well, like Selene and occasionally Aphrodite, but Hecate was the goddess that she was the most connected to. She cut a slice of bread and covered it in honey, the usual offering she did for Hecate. If it was a special occasion like a Sabbat, she would do something more elaborate but for nightly offerings, bread and honey was what Hecate preferred. Nightshade whispered her prayer as she drizzled honey over the bread, cupping the outside of the metal bowl she used to put offerings in and let the energy of her words flow into the bowl and the bread itself. When she was done she carried the bowl through the small door that led to the outside and dug a small hole with a trowel that hung on the doorknob and buried the bread, saying her final ‘thank you’ to Hecate as she did so. Returning inside, she decided to do an offering for the faeries that lived near her hut as well, as she hadn’t done one for them in a while. Nightshade got some milk and sugar and mixed them together in another metal bowl, making sure that it wasn’t silver but still shiny enough for them. She left this outside as well on a flat rock that a few stray “fireflies” particularly liked and fluttered around. As Nightshade went back inside, she heard a fleeting “thank you” in a high and whispery voice and she smiled to herself hoping that the gift would suffice. Faeries loved sweet things and they especially loved sweet milk, so hopefully this would satisfy them.  _ Next time _ , she thought,  _ I’ll float some rose petals in there as well for extra sweetness.  _ Nightshade put out her incense and the candles, thanking the universe for the gifts that they’d brought her that day.

Nightshade returned to her kitchen and finished making her soup and ate quickly as she found that she was getting particularly drowsy. The night had flown by quite fast and found that the sun was just peeking through the trees telling her that it was time to go to sleep. As she changed back into her nightgown and wrapped her hair up into a pile on top of her head, she snuck back into her kitchen and grabbed one of the last buns from the basket on her counter and slunk back to her bedroom, finishing it on the way there just before she crawled between her soft sheets. The bread warmed her body and her mind, bringing Bridgette’s delightful young face to her mind, her smile wrinkling her nose and making her freckles look like constellations that dotted the bridge of that scrunched nose. As Nightshade drifted off into another world of dreams, a smile crept onto her serene visage, a smile that stayed soft and sweet for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas, so so sorry about not uploading for a while, school's been pretty busy so I had to take a little break from writing but hopefully we'll get back on schedule. I made this chapter extra-long because it's been so long since I've uploaded, under different circumstances I would have cut it in half but this is my gift to you for the late upload. Hopefully you all enjoy it, I sure enjoyed writing it, especially since Nightshade hasn't really had the spotlight on her yet so I devoted this whole chapter to her and some snippets of her backstory. Thanks for reading! (Also, if you get a certain reference that I've tucked in here, I hope you enjoyed that as well!)


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